People were stuffing themselves.
They were chewing so loudly it sounded as if there were pigs at every table. Their eyes were glazed, their fingers clutched knives and forks, but they were raking up the food with their hands, choking on it, snorting and spitting it out. A respectable-looking middle-aged man who’d been dining sedately in the company of three bodyguards and a young woman was gulping wine straight from the bottle. A smart-looking young man – a yuppie type – and his pretty girlfriend were fighting over a plate, spilling the thick, orange sauce over themselves. The waiters were rushing from table to table, flinging plates, cups, bottles, braziers and dishes at the diners …
The Dark Ones have their own methods of distracting outsiders.
‘Were any of you present in the restaurant when the murder was committed?’ the witch asked triumphantly. The boss paused before he answered.
‘Yes.’
‘Who?’
‘My companions.’
‘Olga, Svetlana,’ said the witch, devouring us with her eyes. ‘Was there not also present another Night Watch agent, whose human name is Anton Gorodetsky?’
‘Apart from us, there were no other members of the Night Watch present,’ Svetlana said quickly, perhaps too quickly. Alisa frowned.
‘A quiet night, isn’t it?’ said a voice from the doorway.
Zabulon had answered the summons.
I looked at him in despair, realising that a supreme magician would not be taken in by my disguise. He might not have recognised Ilya as the boss, but the old fox wouldn’t be caught out by the same trick twice.
‘Not so very quiet, Zabulon,’ the boss said simply. ‘Call off your minions, or I’ll have to do it for you.’
The Dark Magician still looked exactly the same, as if time had stopped, as if the icy winter hadn’t finally given way to a warm spring. A dark suit, a tie, a grey shirt, old-fashioned, narrow shoes. Sunken cheeks, dull eyes, short hair.
‘I knew I’d find you here,’ said Zabulon.
He was looking at me. And only at me.
‘How stupid,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘What do you need all this for, eh?’
He took a step forward and Alisa darted out of his way.
‘A good job, prosperity, self-esteem, all the joys of the world – all in your grasp, all you have to do is decide what you’ll have this time. But you’re so stubborn. I don’t understand you, Anton.’
‘And I don’t understand you, Zabulon,’ said the boss, blocking his way.
The Dark Magician reluctantly redirected his gaze.
‘Then you must be getting old. The person in your lover’s body is Anton Gorodetsky the same person we suspect of the serial killings of Dark Ones. Just how long has he been hiding in there, Boris? Didn’t you notice the substitution?’
He laughed.
I looked round at the Dark Ones. They still hadn’t understood. They needed another second, or half a second.
Then I saw Svetlana raise her hand, with a yellow magical flame flickering in her palm.
So now she’d passed the fifth-grade test – but this was still a battle we could only lose. There were three of us and six of them. If Svetlana struck – not to save herself, but to get me out of this fix – there’d be a bloodbath.
I leapt forward.
It was a good thing Olga’s body was well trained and in such good shape. It was a good thing that all of us – Light Ones and Dark Ones – weren’t really used to relying on the strength of our arms and legs, on simple, crude violence. And the best thing of all was that Olga, who had been deprived of most of her magic, hadn’t neglected the skills of physical combat.
Zabulon doubled up with a hoarse gasp when my fist – or rather, Olga’s – sank into his stomach. I swept his legs from under him with a single kick and ran outside.
‘Stop!’ howled Alisa in a voice filled with admiration, loathing and love all at once.
The hunt was on.
I ran down Pokrovka Street in the direction of Zemlyanoi Val Street, with my handbag bouncing hard against my back. It was a good thing I wasn’t wearing high heels. I had to get away to disappear. I’d really enjoyed the urban survival course, but it was so short – who could have imagined a Night Watch agent would end up running and hiding, instead of chasing and catching?
I heard a screeching wail behind me.
I leapt aside in a pure reflex response, before I could even understand what was happening. A streak of crimson flame came hurtling down the street, coiling and twisting as it passed me, then it tried to stop and turn back, but its inertia was too great: the charge crashed into the wall of a building, momentarily turning the stones white hot.
I tripped and fell, glancing back. Zabulon was recharging his battle staff, but he was moving very slowly, as if there were something hindering him, slowing him down.
He was shooting to kill.
There wouldn’t have been even a handful of dust left if I’d been caught by Shahab’s Lash.
So the boss was wrong after all. The Day Watch didn’t want what was inside my head. They wanted to eliminate me completely.
The Dark Ones were chasing after me. Zabulon was aiming his staff. The boss was restraining Svetlana as she struggled to break free. I got to my feet and started running again, already knowing there was no way I could escape. At least there was nobody around: instinctive, subconscious fear had swept everybody off the street the moment our confrontation began. Nobody else would get hurt.
I heard a squeal of brakes and looked round just in time to see the Day Watch agents jump out of the way of a car careering wildly along the street. The driver stopped for a moment, evidently thinking he’d driven into the middle of a gangland shootout, then picked up speed again.
Should I stop him? No, it wasn’t allowed.
I jumped on to the pavement and squatted down, hiding from Zabulon behind an old Volga, letting the stray driver pass. The silver Toyota hurtled past me and then screeched to a halt with a smell of burning brakes.
The door on the driver’s side opened and a hand beckoned to me.
Things like this just don’t happen!
Heroes only get rescued by passing cars in cheap action movies.
At least that’s what I was thinking as I opened the back door and jumped in.
‘Get us out of here!’ cried the woman sitting next to me. But the driver didn’t need any encouragement, we were already moving. There was a flash behind us and the driver swerved out of the path of a streak of fire. The woman began wailing.
How did they see what was happening? As automatic gunfire? Salvos of rockets? A blast from a flame-thrower?
‘Why did you come back, why?’ the woman asked, trying to lean forward to hit the driver in the back. I was all set to grab her arm, but before I could the car jerked forward and tossed the woman back against the seat.
‘Don’t,’ I said gently.
She glared at me indignantly. She had every right. What woman would be pleased to see her husband stop and risk his life for an attractive, dishevelled female stranger and take her into his car when it’s being chased by a gang of armed bandits?
At least the immediate danger was past now. We came out on to Zemlyanoi Val Street and drove on in a solid stream of traffic. My friends and my enemies were both left a long way behind.
‘Thanks,’ I said to the short hair on the back of the driver’s head.
‘Did you get hit?’ he asked without even turning round.
‘No, thanks to you. Why did you stop?’
‘Because he’s a dumb fool!’ the woman beside me yelled. She moved away to the far side of the car, shunning me as if I had the plague.
‘Because I’m not a jerk,’ the man replied calmly. ‘Why were they out to get you? Never mind, it’s none of my business.’